


Fish-Free Oboe Check

by fractionallyfoxtrot



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, kid!Arthur, music shop!AU, musician!Martin, musician!Nate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:31:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractionallyfoxtrot/pseuds/fractionallyfoxtrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a professional musician, Martin thinks it's nonsense to even suggest checking an instrument for sea creatures.  As someone who gives lessons to Arthur Shappey, Nate knows just how practical fish-free oboe checks can be.</p>
<p>After all, best to be absolutely sure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fish-Free Oboe Check

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt on the meme: ["Somebody gets a fish free oboe check. Sexually."](http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/4207.html?thread=5322351#cmt5322351)

Martin shook his head as he looked down the length of the trombone slide. A sizable dent in one of the tubes was causing it to drag against the inner slide, making it difficult for his student Carl to change positions. While Carl was fortunate that the inner tube of the slide wasn’t also damaged by whatever caused the dent, it would still take Martin a few days to fix.

A loud crash drew Martin’s attention away from his repair work. Noises were a common occurrence in the music shop but as they were closed to customers for the afternoon, Martin felt the need to investigate the source of the sound. He left the equipment room and was nearly bowled over by Arthur Shappey coming downstairs from the second floor. Martin jumped back just in time to avoid being hit by the instrument case swinging from the boy’s hand as he raced for the shop’s front door.

“Arthur!”

Nate hurried down the stairs a few seconds later, holding the saxophone slung around his neck in one hand and a practice book in the other. He caught Arthur just as the boy reached for door. Nate pushed the door closed and dangled the practice book in front of Arthur’s face.

“Practice book.”

“Oh!” Arthur gasped, taking the book and securing it under the thick elastic band that ran around his instrument case. “Thanks, Nate! Gotta go!”

“What is the hurry, Arthur?” Nate asked.

“Mum’s picking me up at three and she said we absolutely cannot be late today,” Arthur explained in a rush of words. The double reed sticking out of the corner of his mouth bobbed up and down as he talked. “Dad’s doing auditions today.”

Nate glanced back at Martin and the two men shared a sigh. They were both well acquainted with the irrational temper of Gordon Shappey, especially when he was auditioning musicians for his floundering orchestra.

“All right,” Nate nodded, “best not to be late.” He opened the door and Arthur bolted out under his arm, instrument case knocking against the door frame as he passed. “Don’t forget to practice pages three through five for next week! And before you play, always remember to-” he prompted.

“Check for sea creatures!”

“No!” Laughter spilled out of Nate as he shook his head. “I mean, yes, I suppose, check for sea creatures,” he chuckled, “but I was thinking more about your reeds.”

“Oh! Soak them before I play!”

“Yes!” Nate reached out and plucked the reed out of Arthur’s mouth. “But not in your mouth,” he instructed.

“Righto!” Arthur agreed as he took the reed from Nate’s hand. He started for the car park, waving behind him as he went. “See you next week! Bye, Nate! Bye, Martin!”

They waved back until he turned a corner and then Nate shut the door. He put both hands on his sax, his fingers habitually running through scales as he walked back over to Martin.

“Oboe?” Martin asked.

“Fourth week,” Nate confirmed. “That’s a new record for Arthur.”

Martin chuckled but the humor quickly fell off his face. “You shouldn’t encourage him, Nate,” he said before turning back to the equipment room.

“What?” Nate asked in disbelief.

Nate followed Martin back to the equipment room. Martin picked up the dented slide again. He frowned as he slid the inner slide out and peered into the tubing to assess the full depth of the dent. Nate stared at him in confusion.

“I shouldn’t encourage him?” Nate questioned, bringing Martin’s attention back to him. “I _shouldn’t_ encourage him?”

“Yes,” Martin answered matter-of-factly.

Nate gaped at Martin. “I shouldn’t encourage a kid who’s interested in music to find his instrument?” he asked, shaking his sax for emphasis.

It was Martin’s turn to look confused. “What? No, that’s not what-”

“A kid who clearly needs an escape from his arse of a father?” Nate interrupted. He stepped towards Martin, gripping his sax firmly, almost defensively. “A kid who has access to every instrument in here because not only is his mother our boss, she also owns the shop? A kid who could really benefit from-”

Martin clapped his free hand over Nate’s mouth, cutting off the rest of his boyfriend’s rant. “That’s not what I meant.”

Nate pulled away from Martin’s hand. “Then what did you mean?” he asked, his brow furrowing deeper in confusion.

“I meant you shouldn’t encourage Arthur’s nonsense,” Martin tried to explain. He set the slide down on the worktop behind him and crossed his arms over his chest. “That yellow car game, his fascination with polar bears; you know Gordon doesn’t like any of that stuff. It’s great that you’re helping him find his instrument but don’t tell him to check for sea creatures before playing it; that’s encouraging his nonsense.”

Nate’s expression softened and the corner of his mouth turned up in a grin. “I wouldn’t call the sea creatures thing nonsense,” he chuckled. “After that incident with the goldfish and the bari sax, I think it’s pretty practical advice.”

Martin remained unamused. “You know what I mean, Nate,” he tutted. “You’re his teacher. Your job is to teach him how to be a good musician; how to read, how to play, how to care for his instrument. You shouldn’t be telling him to check his oboe for fish.”

“You’ve obviously never tried to teach Arthur Shappey before,” Nate laughed. “How else can he be sure there _aren’t_ any fish in his oboe if he doesn’t do a fish-free oboe check?”

“He should be able to assume there aren’t any fish in his oboe,” Martin grumbled. “There should _never_ be fish in an oboe.”

“It doesn’t hurt to check,” Nate shrugged. “Just because there should never be fish in an oboe, doesn’t mean there won’t ever be fish in an oboe.” He sauntered into Martin’s space, unclipping his sax from the strap around his neck and setting it down behind Martin. “Best to be absolutely sure,” he smiled, slipping a hand into Martin’s red curls.

Martin didn’t resist when Nate leaned in to kiss him, expecting a short peck, which was the most Martin was usually willing to indulge in while they were at work. Nate, however, had different intentions. He didn’t pull back after the first touch of their lips; he pressed for more. The kiss deepened, grew hungry, and Martin got increasingly caught up in the play of tongues and the taste of Nate. Nate nipped at his lower lip, causing his hands to twist into Nate’s short brown hair. Martin held Nate to him, then pushed him back when he felt Nate’s hand move down to cup his groin.

“That is not an oboe.”

“Never said it was,” Nate murmured against his lips, working Martin’s belt with both hands.

“Nate,” he started to say.

Nate untucked Martin’s shirt. “Bass clarinet, perhaps,” he suggested.

“Nate.” Martin had meant it as a warning but the other man’s name came out as more of a moan when Nate slid his hand into Martin’s trousers and swept his thumb over the head of Martin’s hardening cock. “We, we shouldn’t,” he protested weakly. “Not here. Not with-”

“The shop’s closed,” Nate reminded him. “Your next student doesn’t come in until four and she’s always late.”

Martin tried to come up with other objections but his mind refused to cooperate as Nate pushed his trousers and pants down to his knees. He lost his grasp on Nate’s hair as the other man moved to kneel in front of him, hands trailing over Martin’s chest as he went.

“We, we still, we still shouldn’t,” he stammered. “It’s unprofessional.”

Martin bit back a groan when Nate touched his tongue to the inside of one of Martin’s thighs. Nate licked up, almost to the base of Martin’s cock, forcing Martin to grab hold of the worktop for support. He pushed Martin back, gently pinning him to the worktop, and grinned up at him.

“I disagree,” he said, with an air of nonchalance. “I think it would be unprofessional to _not_ help you check your _instrument_ for sea creatures. Best,” he purred, inching closer to Martin’s cock, “to be absolutely sure.”

Martin let out the breath he’d inadvertently been holding, relief and a swear, both results of being taken into Nate’s mouth, riding on the exhale. A luscious, wet warmth enveloped his cock as Nate moved up and down his length, the skillful movement of his boyfriend’s tongue accentuating the slick pull of his lips. Martin leaned heavily against the worktop, his eyes falling closed, one of his hands returning to Nate’s hair. He groaned, unable to stop himself that time, when Nate released him and drew out a long, languid lick over the underside of his cock.

He forgot about repairs, and students, and professionalism; it was all Martin could do to keep standing.

After a few strokes from Nate’s sure hand, Martin’s cock was back in his mouth. Martin opened his eyes, just catching a glimpse of Nate’s grin before the other man pushed forward to take all of Martin into his mouth. He swore again as Nate started to hum around him, the vibrations pushing Martin to the very edge of his control. Nate knew how to finish Martin but he waited, delayed, keeping Martin’s orgasm just out of reach until Martin started to thrust into his mouth. One final pull was all it took for Martin to come undone, his hand fisting roughly in Nate’s hair.

Nate caught Martin as he started to slide down against the worktop. He helped set Martin back on his feet and supported him while Martin made his way back through his post-orgasm haze.

“No sea creatures,” Nate reported, “but I think we should check again when we get home.”

Martin rested his head on Nate’s shoulder, nodding automatically. Nate took a rag off the worktop and gave his hand and Martin’s cock a quick wipe down before pulling Martin’s pants and trousers back up. He tossed the rag back onto the worktop; Martin lazily turned his head to glance at it, frowning when he saw which rag it was.

“That was dirty, Nate,” he complained. “Now I’m going to smell like slide oil.”

Nate ran a hand through Martin’s hair, drawing him in and nuzzling against his cheek. “You always smell like slide oil,” he whispered. “And polish. And metal; I love it. It’s a constant reminder that I’m shagging a brass player.”

Martin huffed. “What’s wrong with shagging a brass player?”

“Nothing,” Nate assured him, kissing the corner of Martin’s frown. “Nothing wrong at all. In fact,” he grinned, “there’s nothing quite like having your pitch perfectionist lips wrapped around my cock; you can’t get that shagging strings.” 

Nate kissed Martin again, managing to coax Martin into a slow, gentle play of lips. When Nate pulled back, Martin grabbed his neck strap and attempted to pull him back in. Nate chuckled, pecking Martin on the lips as he reached behind him for his sax.

“Best to take a break,” he said, clipping his sax back onto his neck strap. “You still have to teach a lesson at four.”

Martin watched Nate leave the equipment room. Without the additional support, and feeling too lazy to stand, Martin slid down into a half-dressed pile on the floor. He propped his arms up on his knees and leaned his head back against the worktop. He closed his eyes as he listened to Nate play his sax in another room of the shop, playing the same tune he’d been humming earlier when Martin’s cock was in his mouth.

Martin sighed contently, hoping his student would continue her trend of showing up late.


End file.
